Apocalypse Now, Apocalypse Later
by TheKuraning
Summary: Set mid-season 13. While attempting to find alternative spells for inter-dimensional travel, Sam and Dean stumble across an old tome in the bunker with simple, if strange, answers to all their problems. Unfortunately, the entity their new spell summons decides it would be more fun to zap them back to 3E433 Cyrodiil than actually help them in any useful way.
1. Visitor

_**Apocalypse Now, Apocalypse Later**_

 ** _by TheKuraning_ _  
_**

 **Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ , _The Elder Scrolls_ proper, and _TES IV: Oblivion_ belong to their respective owners.  
**

It seemed like it had been raining for days, now. Weeks, even. The steady drumming of droplets rang over their heads without pause, as though the very heavens were weeping for them; for their family. Sam Winchester knew better than to believe that, however.

While over a decade ago he believed in the stories and myths, believed in the mercy and love of heaven, there had been far too many dealings with angels in the past to remain naive. Heaven didn't care, at least not about people. And that was just the way things were. Chuck couldn't have been bothered for anything besides Amara, and that had only lasted as long until the two had gone on vacation. Since then... radio silence. Even Jack hadn't been enough for Chuck to intervene.

These were all thoughts Sam tried to keep out of mind, of course. There was no use worrying about the things he couldn't change. So instead he sat at the heavy walnut table in the bunker's foyer, flipping through book after book after decrepit book. This is what was within his power: research. And he was good at it. The Men of Letters had stored hundreds upon thousands of files, ledgers, books with every sort of occult information that seemed to exist, at least until the 50's, and Sam was determined to find the missing puzzle pieces, the spells or rituals that would allow them to walk between worlds and find Jack and Mom. Bring them back. Finally, finally be safe.

Sam flipped the page. The words were blurry and all starting to blend together, but he couldn't stop yet. He didn't know what else to do.

"Morning, sunshine."

Briefly, Sam's eyes shot up as his brother crossed the foyer, bath robe tied loose over his pajamas. Dean's eyes seemed just as blurry as the book had, and his hair stuck up at odd angles. He must have just gotten up.

"Morning," Sam replied as Dean continued his beeline towards the kitchen. "I'm surprised you're up. You seemed pretty worn out when you got back, yesterday."

"It was just a couple rougarou. It was basically a beer run." The tap ran, a jar opened - Sam heard the coffee pot hiss to life, and it wasn't long until he began to smell it. He inhaled deeply. Coffee was such a nice smell.

"You on the other hand," Dean continued as Sam heard the clicking of the stove, "you haven't moved a freakin' inch since I left to hunt them in the first place. You even get your four hours, Sammy?"

Sam didn't grace that with an answer.

"There has to be something," he said instead, "I can feel it. Something important – something we're missing, and it's bound to be in here somewhere."

Sizzling fat; bacon? Or sausages? Either way, it was satisfying, and Sam's stomach let out a growl of approval.

"Look, Sam," Dean was saying, "I want to find a way to get Mom back, too. And Jack. But if you keep forcing yourself on like this, you're going to burn out. Hey, you want breakfast?"

Sam didn't need asking twice; book balanced in his hand, he had already been in the process of standing and stretching, and with a yawn, he shuffled in to take his spot at the kitchen table.

Dean had three pans going at once. One of course, was bacon; he always had to have bacon. In another, hash browns with an ungodly amount of oil. In the last, Dean was hard at work trying to shape runny batter into the form of what looked like... well, Sam wasn't sure what it was supposed to be, but damn if Dean wasn't trying.

That was another thing that had changed over the years. Sam knew he had lost time during which Dean had been practically domesticated, but his brother's cooking prowess still astounded him to this very day. While decidedly less than healthy, it was hard to say Dean's food tasted anything less than _good_. Sam dumped his book on the table and went to the cupboard to get a couple plates. It was when Dean had given up on shaping the pancakes that they finally sat down to eat, and they were each half way through their first mugs of coffee before the conversation began again.

"So, nagging aside, you find anything?" Dean motioned with his fork towards the heavy old book Sam had been reading, half-forgotten on the table in favor of more greasy food than the younger man ought to have been eating. Sam paused mid-chew and eyed the book wearily. It was old – very old. The script was foreign in a way neither of them had ever seen, sleek and jagged and almost dangerous-looking. Many of the pages were torn, faded, or lost, but occasionally, in those that remained, there was the tight, neat scrawls of notes made by a Man of Letters of yore.

"Well actually," Sam eventually said as he swallowed his bite, "get this. Whatever is in this book, someone was translating, to some extent. There's not a lot I could make out, but on _one_ of the pages..."

He flipped back in the tome, eyes scouring until he came across one he'd bookmarked far earlier. Then, he spun the book around and in one fluid motion, passed it across the table to Dean. His older brother squinted, a thoughtful frown overtaking his features as he paused mid-chew, leaning close over the page to read the notes.

"A head of lettuce, a roll of yarn, and a soul gem," he read aloud, "burn with a lock of hair in the rain... yadda yadda... the barrier will rend, and feet may travel across." Dean's frown deepened and his brow furrowed. Lazily, he lifted a piece of bacon to shove in his mouth with the rest of it, seeming to mull it over, and again turned his attention to Sam. "What the hell is a soul gem?" he finally asked, and Sam shrugged.

"Never hear of it," he answered, "but these notes... they're full of stuff like this. Weird spells that make no sense, but a lot of them reference a barrier or a breech. I don't want to get my hopes up, but Dean..." Sam set his fork down and took the book back in his hands, leafing through pages. "I think these are instructions on moving between worlds."

"I don't know, man," Dean eventually sighed, "it seems too easy. Lettuce and yarn? I don't know what that soul gem crap is, but I'll bet it beats trying to catch Lucifer. _Again_."

That was as close to a yes as Sam figured they would probably get. He offered Dean a tired, hopeful look; he felt like it was a look he was wearing a little too often these days. Taking care that the page remained marked, he snapped the book shut and pushed himself to his feet.

"I'll go check the records and see if we have one in storage," he announced, "if I find anything, I'll give you a shout."

"Yeah, you better," Dean teased, "hey, you gonna eat that?"

And that was how the rest of his breakfast disappeared, at any rate.

The computers were slow to find much of anything in the bunker, especially if more time had passed since something had been catalogued. Despite the speed of modern technology, it was often too much to simply let happen on its own. Therefore, while the computers ran and searched through the Winchesters' ever-expanding database of fantastical items, Sam decided it was best to give the poor machines a hand and start looking, himself. He wasn't sure why he picked the storage room he did; all he knew was that for some reason, the rain sounded louder in this particular room than any of the others. It was a sort pf soothing rhythm as he worked, allowed him to relax however much he could and just dig through the ridiculous amounts of crap the Men of Letters had hoarded so long ago.

It had been hours—almost time for a late lunch, if the smell of burgers wafting down the halls were of any indication—when something caught Sam's eye. It wasn't anything particularly noteworthy. A wooden, hand-carved box sat on a shelf towards the far corner of the room, small and discreet. Frankly, Sam was surprised he noticed it at all, and by all standards it seemed relatively lackluster; yet, as soon as his eyes landed on it, he was drawn forth like a moth to a flame.

The wood was dark and old, covered in a thick layer of dust that Sam blew off in a puff. When he could see its face more clearly, he discovered carved into it more of the strange script that had been in the tome. This, certainly, was no coincidence. Curiously, he lifted the box off the shelf and stepped around piles and piles of junk until he finally exited the room and carried it back to the foyer, setting it gently down on the table. There was a latch, but no lock, and when Sam ran his hand around the edge, he could feel the faint vibration of _something_. He undid the latch and flipped open the box.

The inside was padded and lined with black velvet, but neither of these were what drew Sam's interest. What did was the oblong, light blue crystal laying nestled in the padding. Within the crystal swirled a bright, electrifying sort of mist, and every now and then Sam could have sworn he saw it take the shape of a wolf. It was this crystal that was radiating so much energy.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, voice booming and echoing through the bunker. It took a minute, but soon he heard his brother's heavy footsteps. He carefully took the crystal in his hands and held it up, catching the light just as Dean came up the stairs into the foyer, as well. The two shared a meaningful look.

"Well, hot damn," Dean said after a second, "looks like a soul in there, to me."

"We need yarn and lettuce," Sam reminded him, "if we hurry, maybe we can try the spell before the rain lets up."

"Good call," Dean agreed, "I'll go see if there's any yarn in Cas' room. There should be lettuce in the fridge."

Under normal circumstances, Sam knew Dean would not have agreed so easily; frankly, if they were going to try such a strange spell, he would have wanted Castiel to be there in case things went south, but Cas was still off looking for the components of the Demon Tablet spell in Chuck-knew-where. Really, it was probably better this way; keep one of them in reserve, just in case. They would have to leave him a note, though. As Dean headed back towards the rooms, Sam paused to hastily scribble a note and the spell instructions on a nearby post-it note and left it on the table where Cas would hopefully see it, later.

When that was done, he strode purposefully into the kitchen and right up to the fridge, yanking one door open to rummage through the climate-controlled drawers. The head of lettuce they had was a little small, and a little old. Originally, Sam had intended to make some fresh salads with it, but they had kind of gotten caught up in business for a while and it had remained untouched. It wasn't oddly smushy yet at any rate, so it would have to do. After tucking the lettuce under his arm and shutting the fridge door, Sam fished out a bowl and took everything back into foyer. Dean returned not even a minute later with half a roll of yarn.

"I have no idea when that birdbrain took up crochet, but he's gotten really good at it," he admitted as he tossed the yarn into the bowl, "I feel kinda bad, had to cut this off his latest project. Sucker's got half a queen-size blanket on his bed." Sam, too, was impressed. He made a mental note to replace Cas' yarn later.

"Well either way, this is everything," he said, setting the lettuce and crystal in the bowl with the yarn. Well, almost everything; he fished his angel blade out of his coat and sliced a lock of hair from his glorious mane, dropping that into the bowl as well. Dean, meanwhile, produced a matchbook from somewhere, struck a few on the side, and dropped them into the bowl.

"Is there an incantation, or something?" he asked. Sam quickly looked over the notes in the book and shook his head. The rain continued to patter against the bunker as time passed. The fire caught the yarn, then the lettuce, and burned and burned. Nothing happened. The wind howled outside. The rain grew louder. And still nothing happened. The fire quickly began to die. Neither of them said anything, but by the identical looks of disappointment on their faces, they didn't really need to. Even if they hadn't had the highest of hopes in the first place, watching the spell fail right in front of them was more disheartening than they had expected. Soon, all that was left were the blackened, smoking remains of the lettuce and yarn, and the now oddly browned crystal.

"Well," Sam said, "I guess I don't really know what I was expecting. You were right. It was too good to be true."

"Hey, don't beat yourself up, Sammy," Dean replied as the two began to clean up, "it was worth a shot, wasn't it? And hey, look, for a failure, I'd say this is the best case scenario. No weird shit happening to fix, just..." He motioned to the bowl and the burnt remains inside.

"Yeah, that and getting Cas more yarn," Sam agreed, "I'll look for a case or something over lunch and we can pick some up for him on the way back."

The last thing the two were expecting as they turned around was what they inexplicably came face-to-face with. All the brothers registered was the smirking visage before, startled, they dropped everything and reached for their knives, brandishing them threateningly at the silent intruder. The man who had most certainly not been in the bunker with them before merely laughed, loud and boisterous, his smirk sharpening into toothy grin. He looked old, yet surprisingly spry; wrinkles lined his face and crinkled at the corners of his eyes. His hair was mostly grey and in some places white, with only small, sad slivers of black clinging desperately onto youth; his full beard looked much the same. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with matching oxfords, multiple rings in either hand, and in his grasp he held an old, crooked walking stick.

"Well, now, don't look so surprised!" the man crowed in a harsh Scottish brogue, "you've invited me in, the least you could do is offer me a drink!"

"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded, "and how the hell did you get in here?"

"Oh?" the man replied, "you mean to tell me you've brought me all the way here and you haven't even done your research? How delightfully... _mad!"_

"Wait," Sam said, his eyes darting to their bowl of failure and shattered dreams, "that spell—the yarn, and, and the _lettuce_..."

"Yes, yes, yes! My summoning spell, of course! But surely, you knew that, _didn't you?_ " The man snapped his fingers; the metal of their knives instantly became searing, and the brothers reflexively dropped them, where they continued to glow white-hot on the floor. He snapped his fingers again, and their chairs—they began walking. Walking towards them. Sam's eyes widened, but suddenly unable to move, the two were forced to watch as the unholy constructs advanced on them. Some mystical power forced them down to sit in the demon chairs, and when all was said and done, the old man looked very proud of himself. "Now, let's have a little chat, shall we? You want my boon, is that it?"

"We don't want anything of yours, you old—!" Dean started, struggling to hop back to his feet but to no avail. Sam quickly cut him off.

"Who are you?" he asked, "Where did we summon you from? How did you get here?"

"All fine questions," the old man said. He leaned back against the table, twirling his cane once in his hand. "I think you know who I am, little mortal. You've seen my face in your heart. You've sung my works to yourself deep, deep, _deep_ in your subconscious. You've tried to keep me out—oh, you have!" He leaned forward eagerly, steadying his attention on Sam. There was more off about this man than his sudden appearance in the bunker. It was his eyes, Sam realized. Rotten yellow eyes, slitted like a cat's or a lizard's but infinitely more dangerous. The man's voice grew quiet, soft, just as dangerous as his eyes. "I was there with you, you know. I found you, broken, shattered, and I would put you back together, maybe not in the right order, but where's the fun in _THAT?_ And you!" His gaze snapped to Dean, held there for a moment, and Sam could see the involuntary shudder slip down his brother's back. " _Oh, I tortured souls in Hell and I liked it, oh, poor me!_ Absolutely _maddening,_ isn't it? Alistair may have run the show, but that spirit had always been in you. How do I know? _Because so have I_."

"You wanna cut the monologue crap?!" Dean forced out, "Sammy here asked you a question!"

"My _dear Winchesters_ ," the man replied, "I am _Sheogorath_ , the Daedric Prince of Madness. You may now, of course, cheer." He motioned to the boys, and when neither of them immediately responded, he huffed and twirled his cane once more. "I don't just show up for anyone, you know. You could at least pretend to be excited! Traveling this far from the planes of Oblivion—"

"Planes? You mean like...?" Sheogorath cut Sam off before he could finish asking.

" _Yeeesssss_ , a different dimension, what have you," he dismissed with a disgruntled wave of his hand, "I know, I know. You're looking for help to find that boy in that fun-less hell-scape. Heard it all before."

"So can you?" Sam pressed, "can you help us get there?"

"Sam," Dean growled, "this isn't as good of an idea as you're thinking."

"When have our ideas _ever_ been good, Dean?" The two exchanged glances; Sheogorath laughed once more.

"Boys," he interrupted, "boys, boys, _boys!_ Of _course_ I'll help you!" With another snap of his fingers, the odd force keeping the two of them seated was gone. Hesitantly, they took to their feet. Dean's eyes were narrowed deeply in suspicion, nose wrinkled in a half-sneer. Sam understood. This was strange; this man was strange. Really, he did. But it was easier than trying to find Lucifer, and it had worked. It had actually _worked_.

"What's the catch?" Dean finally demanded.

Sheogorath's grin, if possible, broadened. Languidly, he pushed himself to his full height—he can't have been much taller than Cas.

"I was hoping you would ask," he said as he straightened his jacket, "I do _so_ love it when the mortals know they're being manipulated. There's someone I need you to find and bring to me, at my palace. He's very important to me, you see, but unfortunately he's disappeared. Not where he should be! Unless it is, in which case, well, I've been looking in all the wrong places." Another exchange of looks; Dean still didn't seem entirely convinced. Frankly, neither was Sam. He wasn't quite sure what a "Daedric Prince" was—some sort of Trickster, maybe? But the alternatives weren't looking any better. And they'd dealt with tricksters, gods, even Chuck and Amara themselves, in the past, not to mention archangels, princes of hell—this was all par for the course. Even if the guy was a little... eccentric.

"Alright," Sam said, "we'll find him." For a moment, anger burned in Dean's eyes, but soon he sighed and his shoulders slumped in resignation.

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, "we'll find your boyfriend. Who is he? Can you give us _anything_ to go on?"

"His name is Shaazah," Sheogorath explained, "it took quite a lot to get him as far as I did, let me tell you. And then he just disappears! Not a trace! No invitation! Frankly, the nerve is astounding. He's a small little guy. About this high, scrawny, smells like a stray cat." He held his hand at about his shoulder, then offered the brothers a bright smile. "I can take you to the place he was supposed to turn up last, and let you make your way from there. Shouldn't be an issue!"

Dean opened his mouth; no doubt he had some smart-ass retort lined up to shoot off. Sam was going to let him have his snipe and then politely thank the deranged stranger they let into their lives and go about their business as quickly as possible when Sheogorath took his walking stick in both hands, lifted it ever so slightly, and then _tapped_ it to the floor with a strange sort of resolve. Suddenly it was dark, and Sam flinched. It took a moment for him to notice there was light; dim, but light all the same. His eyes quickly adjusted. The three were in a small stone room with a single rickety bed, table, and chair, and a barred door—wait. A barred door?

They were in a prison. A weird, oddly dungeon-looking prison. Dim torchlight trickled in from a gloomy corridor just outside their cell. In the cell across from them, Sam could vaguely make out the dark shadow of a man sitting at a table of his own. Eyes wide, he whirled around to face Sheogorath, whose shit-eating grin was still plastered to his face. Sam tried to find the words to express his confusion, his frustration, but it all died in the back of his throat as Sheogorath's eyes burned in the shadows.

"Here we are boys," he announced, "just take care of this little favor for me and I'll send you anywhere you want to go. Oh, and if you even think of trying to find me before you've finished your task, I'll rip your stomachs out through your respective throats and use them to make balloon animals. Though, now I'm kind of hoping..."

Dean lunged, but in a split second Sheogorath vanished into thin air, and Sam winced as he watched his brother land painfully on the hard stone. For a long time, the two were quiet as they tried to process what, exactly, had just happened to them. Then, slowly, Dean pushed himself to his feet and sighed before looking up to stare Sam straight in the eye.

"Son of a bitch."


	2. The Tutorial

"This is bullshit."

Dean's face was set in a heavy scowl, one he usually only reserved for the most diagusting, inhuman monsters the Winchesters hunted. Only minutes earlier, he and Sam had used some dumb spell his idiot little brother had found in one of the Men of Letters' musty, old books, and that guy-Sheogorath?-had zapped them here. Wherever here was. The whole thing had basically been a freaking shit show, the two of them duped into coming to this cold, dark, damp little dungeon.

After Sheogorath had disappeared and Dean peeled himself off the stone floor, he had spent the better part of ten minutes cursing with such ferocity even Sam seemed perturbed.

"Look, Dean," his little brother placated, "this isn't what I was expecting either, but if this is what it takes to get Mom and Jack back-"

"We had a perfectly good spell back home, Sam," Dean cut him off. He took the chair from the little table in their cell and hauled it towards the wall, standing on it on tip-toes to try and peer out through their tiny barred window. "Man, I don't even know where we are. All I'm seeing is a lot of stone. No glass in the window, either." He stretched up to wiggle his fingers through the bars. "A little warm out, actually."

"Maybe it won't be such a big deal," Sam continued. Dean glanced over his shoulder, watching as Sam headed towards the bars at the front of the cell. "We can try and catch a guard, maybe convince them there's been a..."

"What?" Dean prompted, but Sam furiously shushed him and tilted his ear towards the corridor. Quietly, Dean stepped down from his chair and beelined to stand next to his brother, ears straining to determine what it was, exactly, Sam had heard.

"...the messenger only said that they had been attacked."

"No. They're dead. I know it."

"My job right now is to get you to safety."

The voices—a woman's and a man's—were accompanied by footsteps, by flickering torchlight growing nearer around the corner. The conversation between the two continued in undertones, and for a moment Dean had half a mind to call out, to try and grab their attention. Only moments later, however, a group of people turned the corner and continued walking straight towards them. Three of them were dressed in heavy-looking metal armor, sheathed katanas hooked to their sides. An old man with long white hair walked between two of them, dressed in extravagent purple robes with a large ruby amulet hanging from his neck. They stopped short in front of the cell, the woman who had been speaking earlier eying Sam and Dean with exasperation.

"Glenroy, what are these two doing here?" she demanded, "this cell's supposed to be off-limits!"

"Unusual mix-up with the Watch," one of the two armored men suggested, and the woman let out a suffering sigh.

"Nevermind, just get that gate open."

"Uh, actually, this _is_ a bit of a mistake," Sam piped up, but Glenroy glared outright at him.

"Both of you, over by the window," he ordered.

"Hey, look, if you need to open the door, why don't you just let us out first?" Dean tried, "we're not supposed to be in here in the first place."

"Over by the window," Glenroy repeated, "stay out of the way and you won't get hurt." Sam quietly took Deam by the shoulder and steered him back.

The guards opened the door, and first the woman entered, hand resting on the hilt of her katana. She eyed the boys deliberately as she passed them, coming to a stop at the wall to the right. For a minute she ran her hand over the stone until her fingers hooked under one, and a second later something began to rumble. Shaking violently, a portion of the wall slowly began scraping towards the side, and Sam and Dean watched attentively as a dark and gloomy passage slowly came into sight.

"No way to open this from the other side," the woman mused, then shot Dean and Sam another glance, "we'll have to leave it open. Emperor, this way." Without further explanation, she took a torch from a sconce just inside the passage and began making her way carefully through the tunnel. Glenroy followed immediately after her. The remaining guard paused to let the old man—the emperor?—through, but before he, too, could disappear down the tunnel, he stopped short, eyes trained carefully on the Winchesters as a hint of surprise took over his face.

"You... both of you...," he mused quietly, falling shortly silent. Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"Sir," Sam started, but the old man cut him off.

"Neither of you are correct," he said, slowly reaching up to grab his amulet. "Something's wrong... and yet... something about you both feels touched by fate. Come. Walk with us for a while." He beckoned them on, then slowly began to follow Glenroy and the woman down the tunnel. The final guard motioned Sam and Dean on as well, and as the brothers awkwardly rolled with it, he offered them an amused smile.

"Looks like today is your lucky day, guys," he said, "just make sure you stay out of our way." Sam and Dean hurried to catch up with the Emperor.

"Sorry," Sam said as he came to his side, "but who are you, exactly? What's going on?"

"My name is Uriel Septim," the man replied, "and I am your emperor. Assassins attacked my sons, and I am next."

"Well, for a guy with a target on his back, you seem pretty chill with everything," Dean commented. Sam elbowed him sharply, but the Emperor merely chuckled.

"Oh, I have known this was going to happen for a while," he replied, "and I've lived a long life. I consider myself fortunate in that I am aware of how this journey will end for me. I've made peace with the situation." For a second, the woman at the front called for quiet, and the group stopped. They were silent for a minute before they regained their pace. "Might I ask what you two have done to earn your cell?"

"Well," Sam explained, "it's a bit of a strange story." The Emperor laughed.

"Oh, I'm no stranger to odd stories. This is the fourth great catastrophe I've dealt with in my life. Frankly, it's starting to become tedious."

"Well, you see..." Dean nearly reached to grab Sam's arm, to keep him from recounting the experience, but it turned out he didn't need to bother.

"Death to the tyrant!"

All of sudden, there was yelling, and the guard behind them pushed forward as all three of them drew their katanas.

"Protect the Emperor!" The third guard shouted back to them as he charged forward. That was when Dean saw them; dressed in red robes and clad in armor that seemed to have been produced by some eldritch abomination. They clashed with the guards with daggers he wasn't sure they had when his eyes landed on them, but before he could register anything property, Sam was yanking him back. Hurriedly, the brothers positioned themselves in front of Uriel and reached for their knives.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled when his fingers met air where his blade ought to have been. That's right; in all the confusion, he'd almost forgotten, but they'd dropped their weapons when Sheogorath had forced them. They were defenseless... or as defenseless as a Winchester could be. Almost simultaneously, Sam and Dean raised their fists, and just in time. Unbeknownst to the guards, another assassin had appeared, and he was running right towards them. For a second, his hand glowed with faint energy, and then suddenly there was a knife in his grip.

"More like son of a _witch_ ," Sam grunted as he threw himself to the side and sucker-punched the assassin under his arm, where there was a gap in his armor. Dean snagged him by the back of the robes and yanked before he could go down, slamming him into the wall. Uriel, who had an ornate silver shortsword drawn, quickly stepped out of the way as the brothers turned on the assassin and simultaneously kicked out, nailing him straight in the lower back. Sam lunged to snag the knife right out of his hand, but as he tried, it disappeared; seeing an opening, Uriel himself lunged and slid his sword easily through where Sam had punched the assassin to begin with, sticking it right between his ribs. The assassin's body went limp.

"Well done," the Emperor briefly commented, then swiftly turned on his heel towards the other fight just in time to see Glenroy and the third guard finish off the last of the assassins. "Captain Renault?" he called. The third guard shook his head solemnly.

"She's dead, Sire," he announced, and knelt to pick something up off the floor. He came to them holding captain Renault's katana, and wordlessly, he offered it to the Emperor. For a second, Uriel was silent, but then shook his head.

"Let one of the prisoners carry it for now, Baurus," he ordered, "I would expect they would be more useful to us armed."

"Yes, Sire," Baurus replied. He turned to the Winchesters and held the blade to them, instead. "Either of you know how to swing a sword?"

Unfortunately, Sam saw right through Dean's usual rock-paper-scissors strategy _again_ , and Dean did not, in fact, get the cool sword. Sam thanked Baurus as he took the katana's hilt, then turned away from everyone to safely give the blade a few practice swings. Its balance was incredible; he hooked the scabbard to his belt and sheathed it, looking quite pleased.

"What was with those daggers?" Dean asked once the group was moving again, "they just kinda seemed to appear."

"These assassins we're dealing with," Baurus answered, "they seem to be part of some Daedric cult; I wouldn't be surprised if those daggers were conjured." Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"Conjured," Dean repeated, "as in, magic?"

"I know," Baurus agreed, "we had wards to spot this kind of activity all over the palace, but the last place we thought to worry about was the escape route."

Glenroy led them through a creaking wooden door, taking care to lock it behind them, before they turned down another long, dark passageway. It was the emperor who spoke next, in his deep, calming voice.

"Speaking of the unexpected," he began, "you boys have yet to explain how you came to be in that cell. I am quite interested to hear it."

"Wait, wait, let me guess," Baurus added good-naturedly, "did you guys steal something? The way you picked up on our warding issue like that, you guys must be master thieves, right?"

"No," Sam laughed awkwardly, "nothing really as interesting as that. Ah, you see, we were looking for a certain kind of spell..." Dean had half a mind to elbow Sam even harder, this time, but Baurus was frankly too interested in his guessing.

"Ahh, wizards then. Sorcerers, maybe? From the Mage's guild, right? You try one of those weird teleportation spells from Morrowind, get yourself stuck?"

"Baurus," Uriel chided, though his eyes betrayed his amusement, "let them speak. Glenroy, let's stop here a moment. I'm afraid these old bones can't go as far as they used to."

"Of course, Sire," Glenroy replied. The room they stopped in was relatively spacious, brighter than some of the others they'd already walked through. Uriel took a seat on a collapsed column and beckoned Sam and Dean to sit next to him. Sam took the offer, his long legs nearly bent up to his chest, but Dean hovered on his feet just nearby.

"So you see," Sam continued carefully, "we were looking for a spell to find our family. They... they're trapped somewhere very far away. And we found this old spell in a book that we thought would take us to them, but when we cast it, this guy appeared and... well... offered us help." Uriel pursed his lips and eyed Sam carefully.

"What was his name?" he prompted. Sam offered a hesitant, wry smile.

"He called himself Sheogorath."

And that was why it was probably the wrong thing to say. Dean tensed as Glenroy and Baurus whirled around to turn on them, katanas drawn with their faces twisted in snarls.

"Daedra!" Glenroy spat, "kill them! They might be working with the enemy!"

Sam quickly took to his feet next to Dean, surprised, and the brothers raised their fists once again. Before a single punch could be thrown or sword could be swung, Uriel spoke above them all with booming authority and quickly put an end to it.

"If they were working with the assassins, they would have already struck at us," he said, "the assassins are not agents of the Madgod, they are far too _sane_ for that." There was a silence in which the two guards and the two brothers continued to stare each other down, but it was Baurus who first sheathed his weapon.

"Alright, Sire," he agreed, "I trust you." Glenroy grudginly followed suit.

"Now," Uriel continued as though nothing had happened, "I don't expect Sheogorath was kind enough to offer help out of the _goodness_ of his heart. What did he ask for in return?"

"We're supposed to deliver someone to him," Dean finally admitted, "someone who was _supposed_ to be in that cell, but never made it." Uriel was silent as he mulled those words over, a dark expression taking root in his gaze. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand tiredly over his face.

"The Thief," he said, "the one from my dreams. He was supposed to be in that cell. I have seen his face, but if only I knew his _name_..."

"Shaazah," Sam offered, "Sheogorath told us to look for someone called Shaazah." Silence fell as Uriel seemed to turn in on himself and consider the name for a long moment. Finally, he sighed once more and looked up, a small, sad smile gracing his face.

"What are your signs?" he finally asked.

"What?" Dean replied, and when Uriel repeated himself he could only squint suspiciously. What sort of bullshit was this? Was the emperor really trying to hit on him while they were stuck down here with assassins on their ass?

"Then let's try this," Uriel offered, "which month were you born?"

"January. Why does it matter?" Except now it was the Emperor's turn to look confused, and so Dean heaved a great sigh and tried to clarify himself. "January, you know? The first month?" That lit something behind Uriel's eyes.

"Ah! Morning Star," he announced, "the Ritual! Yes, I supposed that makes sense... Just the _air_ around you... And you?" He looked to Sam, who tried to follow Dean's lead.

"May," he awkwardly replied, "the fifth month."

"Second Seed. The Shadow." It was another thing Uriel seemed to have to mull over, but he came to a conclusion soon enough. "The signs I read show the end of my path. I suppose, in some sense, I am blessed to know the hour of my passing--to face my apportioned fate, and then fall--but..." He shook his head. "If the Madgod is truly involved in this somehow... I fear the horrors that approach may have a larger impact on Cyrodiil... no, on Nirn than I could have possibly accepted."

Sam had that look on his face; he wanted to ask questions. Dean had to admit, he was curious as well. What the hell was a Cyrodiil? What the hell was a _Nirn_ , for that matter? But before either of them could indulge their respective curiosities, Glenroy announced that they had been sitting for too long, a sentiment with which the emperor agreed. The motly troop took to their feet and began trudging along once again. The walk was a lot more somber, this time.

Dean, frankly, still wasn't sure what to make out of all this; things were happening a little too quickly for his tastes, but he supposed they had worked on much less, before. Still, he just wished things would work out for them. Sam, who was walking ahead, near Uriel, glanced back at him, and then slowly slowed to match Dean's pace.

"This is a little more than we were expecting, huh?" he said, and Dean replied by shrugging one shoulder.

"It's weird, man," he agreed, "the whole thing is weird. This is the last thing we need on our plate right now. Once we get out of here, we need to just bail and find our way home."

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said slowly, "Cyrodiil, Nirn--those weren't countries I've heard of, _ever_. We might be a little bit further away than we thought."

And maybe that was true, but shouldn't they at least try? Dean still wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew they had more important things to do, more important people to deal with. Sheogorath could find someone else to search for Shaazah.

"Hold up. I don't like the looks of this." The party came to a halt as Glenroy threw up one hand. He made his way forward down the corridor and a flight of stairs to a lower level before they heard him swear viciously. The four of them approached to find a locked barred gate disrupting their route. "It's locked up tight. There's no way we're getting through here."

"What about that side passage?" Baurus suggested, pointing to a corridor mouth not far from them. Glenroy agreed, but frustration and urgency quickly settled in as they tried; it was a dead end.

"We're trapped," Sam noted as Glenroy swore once again, "I saw a few doors back up the stairs."

"Let's go take a look," Baurus added, "you wanna come with Glenroy and I?" Sam agreed. Dean was about to follow the three of them as well, but a hand caught him by the sleeve of his jacket, and he turned to see Uriel eying him strangley.

"Stay with me, please," he said in a manner that was much more _telling_ than _asking_ , and for some reason Dean found himself bending to that authority.

"I don't expect anything to happen while we're checking it out," Baurus added, "but if it does, you're our last line of defense. Protect the Emperor with your life."

And that was that. Dean and Uriel watched as Sam and the guards headed back into the open chamber. When they were far enough away, Uriel took a seat in a decorative alcove carved into the stone with a great sigh. Again, he looked to Dean, then patted the spot next to him, and again, Dean found himself hesitantly obeying.

"I'm afraid we're closing in on the end," Uriel told him, "in all my dreams, all my visions... Every time I searched for the answers in the stars... I never see passed this point."

"You know," Dean replied slowly, "I've been in the same place before. There's always another way. Another answer."

"I've always believed as much," Uriel agreed, "but I suppose, in the end, what fate can be avoided that has been set for us by the almighty gods?"

It was a stupid way to think. Dean wanted to spit that right out; maybe this little escape journey hadn't been long, but Uriel had been moping around like it was the end of the goddamn world, and Dean sure as hell didn't want to put up with it. He wished he was next to Sam trying to find those stupid doors.

"I've been told the same exact damn thing for years," he groused, "that you have to play your role, that fate can't be avoided. That's a load of crap. Look, I know you're not in the best place right now, Uriel, but you can't just roll over and take it."

"It's not my place to. This isn't my first catastrophe, remember. But I'm old, now. Too old to be any sort of force against the agents of Oblivion."

"Oblivion--the hell _is_ that?" Uriel chuckled and, instead of answering, reached up to undo the clasp of the great ruby pendant around his neck. Taking the necklace in one hand, he grabbed Dean's in the other and pressed the pendant firmly into his palm.

"Take this. The Amulet of Kings. Horrors unlike those seen in hundreds of years will befall Cyrodiil in the days to come, and this... The Amulet is the key to everything."

"No." Dean hastily began to press the Amulet back towards Uriel, but he wasn't taking it. He just gently placed a hand on Dean's shoulder with that sad, gentle smile of his. "No, Uriel, we're gonna get you out of here." The Emperor continued like he hadn't heard him.

"When you find the Thief, give it to him. Guide him. Tell him he must take the Amulet to Jauffre in Chorrol."

" _You don't need to do this._ " Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean realized there were shouts coming from the open chamber, the sound of metal striking metal, and briefly he worried about Sam, wanted to turn around to see what was going on, but somehow he felt stuck in place, his focus captured by the Emperor's calm gaze.

"He'll need you. I can see it in your eyes, read it in your aura. Without you, without _both_ of you, Tamriel is doomed. Take it, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion."

Dean was about to protest again. This wasn't the end. Couldn't be. But then something changed. The light left his eyes. There was blood. A dagger. Something shoved, and Dean lost his balance and he fell. He regained his senses just in time as the lifeless body of Emperor Uriel Septime VII hit the ground.

Amulet still clasped firmly in hand, Dean sprung to his feet. The assassin looked just like the ones before him, red robes, eldritch armor, and a small, bloody, conjured dagger in his hand.

"Today's not your luck day, friend," the assassin sneered, voice like a snake.

"Oh, no, bitch," Dean snarled, "today ain't _yours._ " He ducked to the side as the assassin stabbed at him, danced around slash after slash until he was up in the assassin's zone so he could easily grab him by the arm and quickly _snap_ the bone. The assassin cried out, the dagger shimmering as it disappeared, but Dean wasn't finished. He grabbed the assassin's head and snapped his neck, too, before letting the body fall unceremoniously to the floor.

"Dean!" Dean's eyes shot up as Sam and Baurus ran back into the dead end. They stopped short at the sight of Uriel's body.

"No," Baurus whispered, eyes wide, "we've failed... _I've_ failed..." He dropped to his knees next to the body, and with trembling hands reached out to shut Uriel's eyes.

"Baurus, I tried, but..." Baurus quickly cut Dean off.

"The Amulet--it's not on the Emporer's body!" He took to his feet, whirling around with a wild look. "We have to get it back, if they have the Amulet--!" Dean grabbed him by the wrist.

"Uriel gave the Amulet to me," he explained. He held the Amulet up for Baurus to see, and frankly, Baurus looked exceedingly confused and surprised.

" _You?_ " he repeated, "why? Did he _say_ anything?"

"Only to take it to Jauffre in Chorrol."

Baurus' brow furrowed and he bit his lip. He looked from the Amulet, to the Emperor, then back to Dean and Sam. Finally, he just sighed and shrugged.

"Alright," he finally agreed, "if that's what the Emperor told you, that's what we'll do. "

"Okay," Sam said, "one thing after another, I guess. How do we get out of here, first of all?"

"I can't come with you," Baurus told them, "someone has to stay here and guard the Emperor's body. But it looks like..." He paused, then went to lean over a pile of rubble and through a hole in the wall where the assassin had come through. "Yeah, alright. This looks like it should take you through the sewers. There's some rats and goblins living down there, but," he turned around and flashed the brothers a hollow grin, "the way you two handled yourselves, the way you picked up on their magic so quickly... My final guess _iiiiissssss_..." He pointed to Sam, then to Dean. "Battlemage, Nightblade. Am I wrong?"

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Sam shrugged. Sure, Dean thought, what the hell.

"You got us, Baurus," he said, and Baurus tried to laugh. _Tried_. He gave the two of them a key he promised would get them into the sewers, though unfortunately he demanded Sam's katana back. Sam seemed broken-hearted in relinquishing it. Still, they said their goodbyes, shook Baurus' hand and wished each other luck.

Then, leaving Baurus to stand guard in that dark, dreary place and with the Amulet of Kings securely in Dean's pocket, the Winchester brothers headed forward, unlocked the door at the end of the corridor, and descended into darkness.


	3. Gearing Up

It was midday over Cyrodiil. The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky, reflecting off the still surface of Lake Rumare. Occasionally a fish would challenge that stillness, breaking the surface to lunge at pond-skaters and dragonflies that dared to hover too low. In the center of Lake Rumare was, of course, the Imperial City, the pristine white of its walls nearly shining, themselves. The common sounds of the city—the clicks and thumps of boots on cobblestone paths, the rabble of the city's residents, the distant shouts of sailors unloading their wares on the waterfront—drifted far, even to the very edge of the rocky island it stood upon. However, on that fateful summer day in the Nibenay Basin, these commonplace sounds and tracts of daily life were not quite the most important nor the most interesting aspect of the Imperial City, or of the Ruby Isles upon which it sat. Rather, what was far more important was the small, locked barred door at the end of a passage carved directly into the island's rock. In fact, to be even more precise, it was the two men behind the door who were causing quite a spectacle.

"Goddammit, Dean!" Sam swore, "it's a key! It has a lock! _It goes in the lock and you turn it!_ "

"I can see that, genius!" Dean snapped as he tried to force the key into the lock, " _but this stupid thing doesn't fucking fit!_ "

"Give it to me, I'll do it!" Sam demanded in reply, and he reached over his brother to try and snag the key from his hands.

"No, I'm doing it!" Dean pressed his hand—and the key—as far out of Sam's reach as he could.

Sam lunged again, reaching wildly for the key as Dean tried to elbow him off, simultaneously twisting to break free from his brother's grip. At some point as they squabbled, the Winchesters lost their balance and fell over each other onto the cold, damp floor. The key clattered on the stone a few inches away from them, and the fight continued. Sam, again, lunged for the key, but his fingers fell short as Dean yanked him back and lunged for it, himself. He quickly shoved himself to his feet and threw himself at the barred door, jamming the key as best he could into the lock. Something clicked audibly.

"It won't _turn_ ," Dean groused as the lock stuck fast. Sam, now back on his feet as well, leaned over Dean again, but this time to peer closely at the lock.

"Maybe it's just too old," he mused, "or maybe it's rusted? But maybe..." He paused, a thoughtful frown overtaking his face, then looked back to Dean. "Together?"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "what the hell?" The two brothers did their best to both hold tightly onto the key, and together mustered their strength to turn it. It was difficult; even between the two of them it felt like it was refusing to budge. But then they felt it loosen and turn just a bit, and then a bit more, then more and more until something else clicked and the door finally swung open. The key, however, snapped, the handle breaking off into Dean's hand. He tossed it carelessly to the ground, then strode boldly out into the sun and warm air. Sam followed closely behind him.

To the Winchester brothers, the sight of the Nibenay Basin was just as strange as they were to the locale, itself. Lake stretched out in front of them, but at the other side a strange, circular stone structure stood stoically in the ground. It was an old structure, crumbling and overgrown, weathered and ancient. There was something odd about it that Sam couldn't quite place—some kind of presence emanating from it that hung thick in the air, so much so that even from the other side of the water he felt like he could reach out and touch it.

"I don't know about you," Dean said as they took it all in, "but that doesn't look like any building I've seen, before."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "me either. Do you think we should check it out?"

"If we were armed, maybe," Dean replied, "I don't know, Sammy, something about that place just seems... _off._ "

He strode forward, stepping out onto a little wooden dock to get a better look. Sam, meanwhile, began to turn slowly on the spot, taking in everything, from the clear sky to the gentle motion of the lake. When he finally turned back towards the island, his eyes rose along the rocky shoreline, higher and higher until his sight laid upon the glistening city walls. They looked well-kept, and it was then he first noticed the faint sounds of life wafting to them along the breeze. He spun on his heel back towards his brother and called out to him.

"Dean!" he said, "there's a town literally right here!" Dean turned around at his brother's call and took a moment to inspect the city walls, too, before nodding his approval.

"Good place to start as any, I guess. What is it, European?" He made his way back to Sam, and the two of them quickly found a path leading up towards the city.

"Maybe Roman?" Sam suggested as they walked, and the two shrugged at each other. Sheogorath had claimed to travel between worlds, but that didn't necessarily mean that's where he took them, Sam thought. Maybe he had just zapped them back in time. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time a cosmic being played that card on them.

The climb was a little bit steep, but not impossible, and the bluffs and hills led the brothers to a cobblestone bridge stretching between the larger city and a smaller, less-welcoming building. That would be the prison they had just escaped from. It was somehow even more oppressive from the outside where Sam could see the tiny cell windows and the barred gates leading in. Briefly, he caught Dean eying the place with just as much distaste. Without discussing it, they turned their backs on the prison and headed instead towards the city. As they neared the end of the bridge, they found a large, arched wooden set of doors, reinforced with steel around the edges. In front of the doors stood two warriors in full steel plate armor on either side, scowling against the harsh sunlight as they stood guard and chatted idly with each other. Again, Sam and Dean exchanged glances and shrugged.

"Excuse me," Sam greeted as they approached, and the two guards quickly stood to attention.

"You have our ears, Citizen," said the guard on the left.

"Uh... yeah," Sam replied lamely, "sorry, we're a bit... lost. Where are we, exactly?"

"First time to the Imperial City, huh?" the guard on the right answered, "the Red Ring gets a little bit confusing. The City's market district is through these doors. If you two know what you're looking for, we can give you directions."

They did, but they didn't. Sam paused as he tried to think of how best to explain the situation, but as he remembered how Baurus and Glenroy had reacted upon hearing of Sheogorath, decided it was maybe better to leave that out. As he considered, then, just how to ask where to find this mysterious Shaazah, Dean took it upon himself to take control of the situation.

"Well, where's the best place to get a drink around here?" he asked, and the left guard's face lit up.

"If it's the good stuff you're after, there's a little tavern in the Elven Gardens district called _The Hallow Oak_ ," he suggested, "I don't know what those wood elves put in their mead, but it's the best I've ever had."

"Oh, you and your mead." The right guard rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "They have some pretty decent beer there, too, if you prefer it." He turned around to face the same way as Sam and Dean and began to gesture directions to them. "When you enter, you'll be facing the White-Gold Tower. The Elven Gardens are one district right from here, and the _Oak_ is right at the end of the street, tucked away in a little abbey."

"Thank you, gentlemen," Dean said, "c'mon Sammy."

Sam nodded politely to the guards as he and Dean passed them by, pushing the large wooden doors open with a _creeeeeaaaaak._ If the outside of the city was beautiful, Sam wasn't sure how to describe the inside. The walls shone even brighter under the sun, and the cobblestone streets glistened with every step they took. People hurried down the street, heading this way and that as they occasionally paused to speak to one another. A few eyed Sam and Dean curiously as they passed, and Sam and Dean found themselves staring right back.

"Dean," Sam whispered as they walked, his eyes glued to a blue-skinned and red-eyed woman with pointed ears, who seemed endlessly intrigued by Sam's overcoat, "I think they literally meant _elves._ "

"Yeah, no shit," Dean replied in undertones, "no one seems bothered. You think they're fae?"

"Might be," Sam said, idly remembering their past run-ins with faeries and elves, "keep on your toes, huh?"

"I'm not worried," Dean replied, "we're probably the toughest sumbitches here." Both brothers froze instantly in their tracks as a giant, bipedal lizard walked briskley passed them, tail swaying with its movements as it walked, spikes and spines growing every which way from its head. The brothers turned on each other, wide-eyed.

"What the hell is that?!" Dean whispered furiously to Sam.

"I don't know!" Sam frantically whispered back, "no one seems to care!" And it was true: no one cared. Well, to be precise, no one seemed bothered by the fact that a lizard was walking around like a person. In fact, the lizard stopped to talk to a large, robust green man with a fanged underbite and a tall, yellowish woman who also had pointed ears. Slowly, they exchanged looks again.

"Sammy," Dean said, "I don't think we're in Kansas, anymore."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "no shit."

They did their best not to cause a scene, even though every hunter instinct their father had drilled into them was screaming for them to take bloody action. Orcs, elves, and lizard-men - what could possibly be next? They tried to keep their heads down as they passed by various shops and clusters of people. Every now and then Sam caught snippets of their conversations: talking about their favorite stores, about books whose titles he never once heard of, a soldier asking a lizard about a fox, something about a Nerev-something, such foreign words and concepts that neither brother could place. Before long, the brothers came upon another large door and pressed their way through.

The Elven Gardens were exactly what Sam supposed an elf's garden would look like. It was ardent, bright, and overgrown in such an oddly orderly manner that it must have been planned. Ivy climbed the stone walls of the buildings and mushrooms grew in the shadowy nooks and crannies between them. The whole area smelled fresh and flowery. He inhaled the warm summer air deeply and slowly exhaled. Something in him felt... better. Lighter. Dean, too, as his usual frown-creased brow was raised in mild interest and his eyes bright for the first time in a long while as he took it all in.

"Look at this place!" Dean exclaimed, "it smells awesome."

There were plenty more elves in this district, some tall with sallow skin and yellow eyes, some blue with red eyes and dark hair, and some decidedly short with eyes that seemed far too large for their face. They passed them all by with little incident, following the guards' directions to the end of the street. Just as they had been told, nestled away from prying eyes was an oak door covered in vines creeping steadily up its surface. Above the door hung a sign depicting a mighty oak tree with the words " _The Hallow Oak_ " burned masterfully into it. Sam placed his hand on the door and pushed it open, and he folllwed Dean carefully inside.

It was a little dark in the _Oak_. There were no windows, but there were lit candles at every table and along the ceiling grew mushrooms that glowed with an eerie blue light. A few people were seated around, drinking and eating, as they chatted idly with each other. Sam and Dean strode right up to the bar, where another short elf stood counting gold coins embossed with a stylized dragon. He was dressed in an old, worn cotton tunic and green trousers, his bright blond hair windswept, though Sam was certain he probably didn't get out much during the day. He looked up as the brothers approached and offered them a smile.

"Well, hello!" he greeted, "it's nice to see a pair of new faces around here. And such odd clothes!" He looked them up and down, his smile widening. "You must not be from Cyrodiil, eh? Where are you traveling from? Skyrim?"

"Sure," said Dean with an impatient smile, "why not?"

"It's a lot different from home," Sam quickly added as the elf's smile began to fall, "my friend and I were looking to get a quick drink. One of the guards recommended your mead."

"Certainly!" said the barkeep, practically beaming, and he turned to the wall behind him and pulled two pewter mugs from a shelf before filling them with mead from a large wooden barrel. "Two meads will run you two septims apiece."

Septims? Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Yet another thing Sam had never heard of before. If the literal elves and lizard-men walking around hadn't been enough to convince him, the existence of this strangely-named currency was. Nevertheless, rather than outright admit they were completely and one hundred percent broke, the brothers opened their wallets and dug deep into them.

"You, uh, take visa?" Dean asked as he flashed one of their many stolen credit cards. The elf reached for it and held it up to the light, studying it closely before he frowned.

"What is this made of?" he asked.

"Plastic," Dean answered, "it's, you know, a credit card."

"No, I'm sorry, I've never heard of... plastic." He handed it back. "It's no good here."

Dean grumbled as he slid the card back into his wallet. Jerry Hauser survived one more day without having his funds stolen by the Winchesters. Sam, meanwhile, was busy pulling singles and some change out of his own wallet, and he slapped what he could down on the bar with a practiced puppy eyes and a hopeful smile. Wearily, the elf observed the cash as well. After a long moment of deliberation, he pushed the bills out of the way.

"This is just paper," he said, "and I've never seen coin like this. Is this what they use in Skyrim?"

"Yeah," Sam said, puppy eyes never leaving his face, "those are Skyrish nickels."

"You call yourselves _Skyrish_?" the elf asked, and Dean and Sam nodded vigorously in unison. "And all this time I thought it was Nordic... Well, you learn something new every day, I suppose." He counted through the change and then nodded approvingly. "I'll take them this time, but you boys might want to think about earning some proper coin around here."

"And what's the best way of doing that?" Sam prompted. The elf thought long and hard about it, then shrugged.

"Well," he said, "adventuring can make a decent profit if you can't find a real job. If you haven't found anything yet, you might take it up."

"Adventuring?" Dean repeated, "what do you mean, 'adventuring?'"

"You know," the proprietor replied, "going out, diving into old ruins, taking what treasure you can. But you'd need to find yourselves some proper equipment before you tried, so I guess that puts you back at square one."

"Well, if we could _find_ some equipment, what would you recommend?" Sam asked, and the man paused a minute to think.

"There are some old, abandoned forts not too far outside of the city," he eventually told them, "or if you're feeling brave, you can always dip into an Ayleid ruin. I hear they're infested with some nasty buggers, but Welkynd stones always sell for a high price, especially if you can sell to the Mage's Guild."

"We'll have to try that," Dean huffed, "and the best place to get equipment?" Again, the man thought.

"I'd normally suggest _A Fighting Chance_ back in the Market District," he said, "but Thoronir at the _Copious Coinpurse_ sells a lot of discount goods. You might have better luck there until you get on your feet."

"Thanks, uh...?"

"Aranil," the man greeted, and reached his hand out with a pleasant grin.

"Dean," Dean introduced himself as he shook Aranil's hand, "and this is my brother, Sam." Sam and Aranil shook hands as well.

"Good to meet you, Sam and Dean," Aranil said, "if you have any more questions about the city, feel free to stop by and ask." He winked to them and turned to organize his coin, but stopped short as Sam piped up once more.

"Actually, if you don't mind, we're looking for someone," he said, "does the name Shaazah happen to ring a bell?" Aranil's face fell into a disgruntled scowl.

"Oh, _him_ ," he huffed, "so he's even a problem all the way up north, eh? You boys have some work cut out for you, if you're after him."

Dean prompted, "and why's that?" Aranil shook his head and tried to explain himself.

"Well, you're not the first mercs after his hide," he said, "felt bad for the kid at first, but turns out he's nothing but trouble. You know his kind, with their moon sugar and whatnot. He said he owed some bad people a debt when he was staying here, didn't think anything of it. One morning I went to tidy up the rooms and I must have found about a dozen bottles of skooma under his bed. Kicked him out, haven't seen him since."

"Skooma?" Aranil looked between the two of them, eyes widening in surprise as he realized neither of the brothers understood anything of what he was talking about.

"You don't know skooma?" he exclaimed, "have you boys ever left your homes at all before now? It's one of the worse drugs out there, you know. Gives you the shakes, lose your mind... some of the worse addicts can get pretty violent."

"Oh, _skooma_ ," Dean said after a long moment, "we... call it something different in Skyrim. Uh, crack?" He looked to Sam, who nodded vigorously in approval. "Yeah, crack."

"See, we're actually friends with Shaazah," Sam jumped in, "and, uh, we've been trying to get him clean, but, ah..."

"...he stole our money to buy more skooma and disappeared," Dean continued.

Sam smiled broadly. "Yeah! We just want to get him home so we can help him. Do you know where he went?"

"Out of town, I assume," Aranil admitted, "I don't think he had the coin to afford any of the other inns. I'm sure someone will have seem him on the other side of the bridge." The door to the street opened, and a cluster of patrons entered, all laughing to each other as they took a seat at a table not far off. Among them were one of the blue-skinned elves, a human, and one of those weird green men with the excessive underbites, and Aranil greeted them with a wave and a smile before turning briefly back to the Winchesters. "Thanks for the chat, boys. I hope you find your friend, but I need to get back to work. Dul, Fathis, is this a new friend of yours?" They watched Aranil leave the bar and head over to the table with a few bottles in his hands.

"He was friendly," Sam commented. Dean grunted and took his mug of mead, tossing his head back to take a long gulp. Sam had seen that look on his brother's face, before. A long time ago. He hoped it wasn't the beginning of another spiral. He took his own mug and had a sip. Frankly, he couldn't think of a time when he'd tried mead, but it was alright. Kind of sweet, really. Wasn't mead made with honey, or something? The spices reminded him of the smell of warm cider on a fall day. They couldn't spend too long, here; the more time they spent, the nearer the apocalypse came back home. Wasn't that just the story of their life? Dean seemed to be having the same line of thought, because before he even finished off his mug he set it back down on the bar and turned back towards the door.

"Comin', Sammy?" he asked.

"Yeah, let's get a move on," Sam agreed. Together, they returned through the wooden door and back out into the gardens. The brothers didn't rest for long. They turned down the main street and began to walk, shoulder to shoulder. This was a lot more trouble then Sam had been expecting. Of course, he knew it wouldn't have been easy, because when had their life ever been easy? It was always one thing, one failure, after another. They would struggle and struggle and things only got harder, somehow. They should have known better than to perform that dumb ritual. But if they didn't do it, who would? Even Chuck had left the weight of salvation on them.

"First things first," Dean finally said, "we need money. Money and knives. How much do you think we need?"

"It's not like I know the exchange rate here, Dean," Sam replied, "maybe we should start by finding an actual shop? I think we passed some on our way here."

"I think so too," Dean agreed, "let's go take a look."

Their pace picked up, and the two hurried back to the end of the street and passed through the archway into the first district. The streets were still positively crowded. This must have been a popular place, Sam thought. Just a few paces down the street the cobblestones opened to a pavilion on their left, filled with barrels and sacks, but Sam's attention was caught by a sign hanging overhead a door to their right, and he paused to look at it as Dean wandered off. It read _Edgar's Discount Spells_ next to a burning of an open hand with an eye inlaid in the palm. The door under the sign had the faint sense of something thick, smothering, not unlike the feeling Sam had looking at the ruins on the other side of the lake. It was almost like he could smell it. Discount spells, huh? So in this world, magic was at least known. Probably accepted. The idea made him a little uncomfortable, even though he knew it was silly. They'd used spells and rituals themselves countless times back home. Worked with witches and psychics, sometimes. But it still felt like a taboo.

"Hey, Sam!" Sam jumped as a hand clasped his shoulder, and he turned to find his brother beaming, his wolfish grin stretching wide across his face. "Check it out - _Slash 'N_ _Smash_." He pointed across the street to another sign advertising the shop,

"Well, if that doesn't scream us, I don't know what does," Sam chuckled.

"C'mon, man, let's check it out!" Dean clapped his shoulder once more and the two crossed the cobbled street, weaved around barrels and crates, and entered the shop.

It was a small place; almost like a tiny town house, Sam thought. There were stairs leading upwards to their left, and in front of them, tables and display racks of countless maces and axes. At the far end of the room was a counter, and a broad-chested green man with, of course, the underbite. He was talking to a tall, sallow elf woman next to him in undertones, the both of them smiling. As the Winchesters crossed the floor, however, he apologized to her and their conversation paused as he turned to them. "Welcome to _Slash 'n Smash_!" he greeted enthusiastically, "the _BIG_ orc weapon shop - BIG weapons, for BIG heroes." Sam caught a spark of amusement in Dean's eye, but it was nothing compared to the way his brother was practically vibrating at the simple sight of the giant steel battleaxe laid on the counter before them. There was no way they were going to lug that huge thing around, Sam thought exasperatedly. In that moment, he was glad they didn't have any gold to waste on it.

"We're new in town," Sam cut in before Dean could even ask about the axe, "we're looking to start, uh, adventuring, and we're trying to piece out how much it's going to cost us."

"Fresh start in the big city, huh?" the orc sympathized, "yeah, it can be tough to just up and move. But you've come ton the right place, friends! Urbul gro-Orkulg knows you _need_ axes and blunt weapons. _BIG_ ones. What kind of budget do you have?" Sam smiled awkwardly.

"We don't have any local currency," he replied, "we're from, uh, Skyrim. We're just trying to decide how long we need to save up." He didn't fail to notice the way the elven woman perked up at that, and where she was only been waiting patiently for Urbul to finish up with them before, she was now actively eying the two of them carefully.

"Hmm, I see. Well, for the basics you'll probably be looking at an iron war axe," Urbul suggested. He pulled one off a weapons rack on the wall next to him and held it out for them to see. "A nice iron axe like this will run you about twenty-four septims. If you want something with a little more heft, a mace would be thirty-one septims."

Dean whistled. "That's a little bit expensive," he said. He reached to take the axe carefully from Urbul, weighing it in his hand before returning it. "I think we're looking for something a little bit lighter, right now."

"I have a steel short sword, but it's more than the mace," Urbul admitted. "I do have a couple old daggers, but they won't cause BIG damage. They're pretty small."

"What's your best on those?" Sam asked.

"For you boys, I can do ten septims each." Urbul turned to put the axe back on the rack. As he did so, the elven woman leaned forward onto the counter. She eyed the brothers for a second longer before laughing.

"Boys, you said you didn't have any coin, correct?" she asked.

"Yeah," Sam said, "we know, we can't buy anything right now. But we'll be back once we have the cash."

"I think I have a proposition that will help _all_ of us," she announced. Dean's brow raised, and he looked the woman up and down before he, too, leaned forward onto the counter, giving her his most devilish smile.

"Oh?" he replied, "and what would that be?"

"I want your clothes."

"What?" The woman laughed again at his surprised.

"It's innocent, I promise!" she exclaimed, "I run the clothing shop next door, _Divine Elegance_. Your clothes, they interest me. You're from Skyrim, yes? Are these the fashion, there?"

"Yeah," Sam quickly lied, "everyone in Skyrim is wearing them now. All the rage."

"Then," the woman said, "I'll buy the daggers for you and give you each a replacement outfit on the house. How does that sound?"

"Well, we might need more than just daggers. Can't you throw in some septims?" But it seemed Sam's puppy eyes didn't effect this woman, as she merely shook her head at his haggling attempt.

"No, with the clothes I'm trading you, that's a forty gold value, total," she said, "I only carry high-quality clothing, after all. Unless you'd rather go naked?"

"Thanks, Palonirya," Urbul said only minutes later once she had paid for their daggers, "and you boys come back when you need those repaired! If it slashes or smashes, remember, your friend Urbul can fix it!"

"Thank _you_ , sweetheart," Palonirya replied, "I'll meet you for dinner?"

It felt nice to be armed, again. The dagger came with a basic sheath and strap, and Sam held it carefully in his hand as he turned it over. No, it wasn't as devastating at the battleaxe he knew his brother wanted, but it was familiar. Smaller than an angel blade, but light in his palm and balanced well enough. It would do for now. He hoped they wouldn't need to be in this strange world long enough to need much more. Palonirya led them only steps away from the front door of _Slash 'n Smash_ into her shop, where she had the boys wait as she went to the back to scrounge up a couple outfits for them. They were nearly identical, if it weren't for the colors. Of one outfit, the overshirt was a dark brown and the undershirt an off-white; the other, both the overshirt and undershirt were dark grays. Each was accompanied by light brown linen pants and deerskin shoes. She dumped all the clothes into Dean's arms and allowed the two of them to use the upstairs bedroom to change.

"I'm gonna miss the plaid," Dean lamented as he and Sam stripped down to change.

"Lumberjack chic really worked for us," Sam teased. "Which shirt do you want?"

"The cool one. Duh," Dean replied. He took the dark shirt. "Why, did you want this one?"

"I don't really care. I just want to get everything over with."

"Yeah. I feel you." Sam slid into his linens and pulled the brown shirt over his head, taking care to slide his wallet into his new pocket. He was mostly just sad to see his shoes go. They were comfortable and fit perfectly. The new shoes were at least soft, but he didn't really feel like they offered him any arch support, and when you were hunting demons - or _anything_ , really - that was really a must. "We'll just have to see if we can buy everything back before we go home."

"Don't worry, Sammy. We'll be back before you know it. Promise."

For a second, he felt like a kid again, but Sam didn't think either of them really believed that.

"Pleasure doing business with you, boys," Palonirya said after they returned downstairs to hand over their old clothes, "hopefully adventuring treats you well."

"Thanks for the help," Sam said, "hey, how do we get to the bridge from here?"

She was kind enough to give them directions, even though she seemed ready to be done with them after their transaction. They thanked her one more time and left. Palonirya had them go through what she called the "palace district." It was aptly named. The tower that they could see from everywhere in the Imperial City, its huge, overbearing form, was in the center, and it must have been the palace. Uriel might have lived there, Sam realized. He wondered what would happen to it now. Would there be a new emperor? Uriel had seemed pretty convinced all his heirs were dead. Something like that could throw a nation into turmoil. They headed counter-clockwise around the palace, following the path. It wasn't just the palace here; in a large ring around them were headstones and mausoleums. A graveyard. It would have been chilling for any normal person, but Sam and Dean had spent so much time in graveyards that, to Sam, it felt safe. If they had any kind of ghost problem while they were in town, they would know where to go, at least.

They took the second exit out of the Palace District and into the Plaza District. There were no shops, as far as Sam could see; mostly, it must have been houses, though he caught sight of an inn as they passed. They wound around a big statue in the middle of the plaza and left the city through a towering wooden gate. The city had been built at the top of a steep hill. They had a good view of not only the bridge as they left, but also of the land succeeding it and the waters of the lake around them. To their immediate right was a stables, but with no need to investigate, the brothers simply made their way down the hill and onto the bridge. Frankly, Sam hoped they wouldn't need to come back; he couldn't imagine having to climb back up that hill. There were guards at either end of the bridge, all nodding politely as Sam and Dean passed, and they found themselves nodding back. On the other side of the bridge was a small settlement - nothing fancy, just a couple cottages and an inn. Besides a guard on horseback passing through, the only other soul they saw was an old man in wading breeches, sitting on a rock outcrop and gazing wistfully out onto the lake. Sam nodded towards him, and Dean followed as he approached.

"Excuse me," Sam said, "we're looking for someone. Aranil from the city said someone here might have seen him."

"Ah, Aranil," the old man said, "I haven't seem him in a while. Well, who are you looking for?"

"A guy named Shaazah," Sam said, and he described him as Sheogorath had. "Have you seen anyone like that?"

The old man nodded. "Yes, I've met him. The khajiiti kid, right? Looked a little on-edge, but stopped long enough to help an old fella like me. What do you need with him?"

"We're friends," Dean lied, "we heard he's in some trouble."

"He was looking for some gold when we talked," the old man said, "I paid him to collect some slaughter fish scales for me. See that old fort, way out west?" He pointed, and the Winchesters followed his direction. Sam could see crumbling ruins perking out over the trees. "That's Fort Nikel. He said he was planning on diving in for more gold. That was a few days ago. Haven't seen him since, but I hear the place is crawling with bandits." That was all they needed to know. Sam thanked the old man and they continued on their way out of the settlement to follow the road west.

"Think he might be dead?" Dean asked as they walked.

"Who knows?" Sam replied, "but we've got to look. The sooner we get him to Sheogorath, the better."

The hike lasted a while; ten, twenty minutes? Who knew? Even if they could have gotten cell reception out here (Sam was pretty sure they couldn't even if they wanted to) their phones were still back in the bunker, and neither had a watch. They would need to start paying attention to the sun. Eventually came the fort's wall, just as old and crumbling as the rest of it. The road wrapped around the wall closely, and the brothers followed it slightly north until suddenly there was a gap, and a path leading up to the fort split off from the main road. The wind was still as they approached, as was the grass and trees. There was no telling what they would find down there; the rules of this place were so different from home. They stopped in front of the old, rotting door leading into the fort. It was no different from a hunt. Whatever would be down there, it would be scared of _them_. They would see to that.

Drawing their daggers, Sam and Dean exchanged one last hardened glance before together, the Winchester brothers pushed the door open and descended once more into darkness.


	4. Fort Nikel

Darkness. It swallowed Dean and Sam as the heavy wooden doors of Fort Nikel shut with an audible creak behind them. The first thing to hit them was the smell; the damp and mildew of a leaky basement, and the earthiness of something wet and green. Dean reached out to feel for a wall as his eyes adjusted, unflinching at the slimey, wet stone he found.

Thankfully, the Winchesters were nearly as nocturnal as the beasts they hunted, and it wasn't long until their eyes adjusted. By the dim light that spilled into their path from far ahead, Dean could see the edge of the stairs they were atop, and quickly and quietly he stepped down to the bottom, Sam at his elbow. The light was coming from two torches burning in metal sconces at the end of the corridor, but as the brothers cautiously made their approach, the wall to Dean's left suddenly gave way, and he caught something flash in the fire's light out of the corner of his eye. Quickly, he whirled around, iron dagger in hand and poised to strike. It was not, however, an attack. An old wooden chest sat nestled in the dead end the opening created, surrounded by rubble. It had been the aging iron bands around the wood that had flashed. Dean let out a breath and lowered his dagger.

"You good?" Sam whispered to him, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah," he replied in undertones, "no idea what to expect, down here. It ain't like we're walking into a vamp nest, you know?"

"I hear you. Evil we know, right?"

Something clattered at the end of the corridor, and the brothers hushed themselves, freezing in the shadows. Then, there were shouts. A handful of different voices each cried out angrily, and Dean steadied himself, mentally cursing. It sounded like seven or eight people. Versus two Winchesters? Not such a big deal they'd faced worse odds before but now that they'd lost the element of surprise...

"How do we want to play this?"

Dean's eyes shot back to Sam. Even though it was too dark to really pick out his little brother's face, he could tell when Sam was anxious. He would get that bit of hesitation in his voice, take those small looks to see what Dean, himself, was doing. Dean always felt like he had to put on a brave face, even after all this time. Habits they'd always had, and always would; they were hilariously co-dependent on each other, not that he would ever say it out loud under normal circumstances.

"Hallway splits right and left up front," Dean decided, "let's hang right and see if we can get the jump on some of 'em."

The brothers carefully made their way down the hall, bracing themselves to strike the first attack that came, but it was hardly necessary. As they grew closer to the commotion it quickly became clear that whatever was going on, they were not yet a part of it. The two quickly came upon what Dean could only describe as a stone catwalk extending left from the corridor, and he quietly went to peek over the edge. There was certainly a number of people down there, humanoid figures that were squared off against each other across the flooded bottom chambers of the fort. Arrows flew through the air, their quiet sounds masked by more of the battle cries. One of the people ran across the stone walkways that were left. A blinding streak of light struck them from the other side with a crackle and the unmistakable smell of ozone.

"Alright, new plan," Dean whispered, "let's let these morons kill each other first."

"What if one of them is Shaazah?" Sam countered. "Dean, we need to go down there! If he dies, there goes our ticket home."

Dean's brow furrowed and he squinted down at the battlefield. That was a good point, but there was no sense running down there if there was a chance they could get killed, themselves. Another bolt of lightning flew across the battlefield, and the warrior dropped lifelessly into the water. His friends retaliated with an arrow that sunk into the one wearing robes Dean assumed had been the caster, and they went down, too.

" _Shit_ ," he finally groused, "let's get down there." Sam was already ahead of him when he looked over his shoulder, his little brother running down the hallway. Dean could see from his perch where the hallway would spill out, and it was too far. They would never make it in time. It was a stupid, _stupid_ idea, but... He hopped the stone railing, placing one foot tenderly on the catwalk in front of him. It felt pretty solid. Keeping himself low, he placed his other foot ahead, then the other, then the other, and soon he was halfway across looking down at the room as a whole. The skirmish was still going, and not one of the combatants had spotted him above, yet. That was good. Now, if he could just tell which one was Shaazah, he could get the drop on someone. He stared hard at each of them, one by one as he tried to decide, when suddenly something caught his eye off to the side. In one corner, near a dying campfire, was a solitary, trembling figure. Dean could tell, despite the shadows, that they could barely move, and not just from fright; it looked like they were tied up pretty damn tight.

Dean weighed his dagger in his hand, looked just a split second, and leaped from the catwalk, landing with a splash in the water at the bottom. The impact stung, but it didn't slow him down. He quickly regained his footing and ran up the stairs. A stray arrow went just over his head and he ducked. When he pulled himself back up, all he registered was the shortsword slicing down at his shoulder before he threw himself to the side and ducked under the arm, stabbing his dagger up and through the rib cage of a blue-skinned elf with hateful eyes. He held the body in front of him as another arrow flew his way, the impact staggering him but the brunt of which was avoided. He heaved the body to the side and charged at the shorter elf who was fumbling as she knocked back another arrow. He slapped the bow out of her hands almost comically and threw her to the ground, dropping to stab her in the neck.

And then he was on fire.

All of a sudden the heat was scorching, and Dean shouted in surprised as it burned his thin shirt and skin. He dropped and rolled straight into the water, and when he finally came up for air, sputtering, he could see Sam on the other side of the room slitting the throat of his assailant from behind. The body dropped into the water as well, staining blood swirling up in clouds. Another body was to Sam's right, one of those crazy lizard-people. Dean let out a long hiss of air as he eased, pulling himself dripping back up onto solid stone.

"Found him," he called across the battlefield.

"Thought you might have," Sam replied, "that him?" He nodded to the corner where their mark had fallen over and was now laying on the floor, struggling to get back up. Something was swishing frantically in the dark, and muffled noises were coming from him.

"Must be," Dean agreed. "Calm down. We're gonna untie you, okay?"

They approached. The brothers each grabbed him by one arm, hoisting him carefully up. Fur. Dean felt fur. The swishing thing was a long tail that battered them in the face as they tried to get him up. Clawed hands. Weird feet. Tall ears; whiskers; the head of a cat. Dean blinked as he tried to process exactly what he was seeing. It was almost as terrifying as the time they stayed at that hotel with all those kids in the animal suits, and infinitely more strange, because even in the shadows Dean could see it was real. Real fur, with real muscles under it, and not those dead, cartoony eyes of the suits. Real eyes, like bubbles of glass, one burning orange and the other frosty blue. Dean untied the gag and yanked it from his mouth while Sam cut the ropes from his wrists and ankles. The cat-person immediately shoved them away, standing in the corner with his tail puffed up and his fur on end. He couldn't have been much taller than Cas, and he was painfully thin under his sack-cloth clothes. His fur was matted and grey with dirt, but the spots and markings on his face reminded Dean of a snow leopard.

"Stay back," he hissed at them, face scrunched in a snarl that bared sharp teeth, "if you take one step, I will—"

"Calm down," Sam said, "we helped you, didn't we? We're just looking for someone." He was taking this much better than Dean was, all things considered. "Are you Shaazah?"

"You've come for the bounty," the cat accused, "I'll kill you both before I rot in that stinking prison!"

"We're not here to take you to prison, either," Dean chimed in. Before he realized what was happening, a furry fist collided with his jaw and sent him stumbling back, stars exploding in front of his eyes.

"Hey!" Sam barked. As Dean caught his senses, he watched blearily as Sam struggled briefly with Shaazah before he was shoved back. There was a glow. Shaazah lifted one clawed hand into the air and wind whipped around them. Suddenly before them was the ugliest little damn thing Dean had ever seen, somewhere between a rat and a lizard-monkey. It screeched and jumped at Sam, latching onto him as it scratched at his face. In the confusion, Shaazah bolted passed him.

"I got him, Sammy!" Dean yelled as he shoved himself to his feet. He chased Shaazah up the stairs and around the corridors, and he was gaining on him. As fast as the cat was, as Dean pushed himself, he was just a little bit faster. Before Shaazah could make it fully up the stairs and to the door outside, Dean grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threw him back down, watching him topple down stone steps until he rolled to a stop at the bottom, motionless. Dean hurried down after him. He was completely still when he arrived, and cursing, Dean dropped to see if he could find a pulse and make certain he wasn't dead. "Oh, come on," he muttered to himself. He hadn't thrown him _that_ hard or _that_ far, had he? "Don't you die on me yet, you sonuvabitch, you're our ticket home!"

A leg swung around and took Dean by surprise, and the next thing he knew he was pinned to the floor and staring up into Shaazah's angry, mis-matched eyes, a dagger he certainly didn't have before pressed threateningly to Dean's neck.

"I just want to be left alone," Shaazah growled. His voice was breaking. He was desperate, Dean suddenly realized. He was _scared_. Something about it was familiar. There was a pressure in his heart. "I'm not going back. I'm _never_ going back, or to jail, or _anywhere_. Just leave me alone." He shoved Dean down one final time and hopped to his feet, backing up the stairs with his dagger poised threateningly in front of him. Footsteps came from the back of the fort; Dean sat up as Sam came up behind him, slowing to a stop as Shaazah gave them each one final warning look. Then, just like that, he was gone.

"He got away," Sam huffed. "We can still go after him if we hurry."

"No," Dean disagreed, "we need to go back to town. Something about this feels... off."

"This was our only solid lead on him, Dean," Sam replied, "if he gets away now, we're going to have a hell of a time finding him."

"It'll work out," Dean said finally.

"But—"

"Let him go, Sam." He didn't miss the resentful look on his brother's face as he gave in.

Before the brothers left the cave, Sam suggested they at least consider taking some things back to town to sell, as Aranil had suggested earlier at the _Oak._ Dean, of course, agreed. They went back down to the basin and scavenged what they could from the bodies. Leather armor that had seen better days, a couple short swords, and an old, rusty bow. There was a small amount of gold coins on the bodies as well, somewhere around thirty or forty in all. Sam took a small pouch from one of the bodies to keep them in, tying it to the loop of his dagger's sheath. Finding nothing else they considered to be of value, the brothers made their way back towards the exit. Something glinted at them on the way back up, and Dean suddenly remembered the chest he had seen earlier.

"Wait a sec, Sammy!" he gleefully exclaimed, and he ducked into the nook to open it. It took a good try; the rust was sticking the latch to itself, but with a heave, Dean finally managed to throw it open. Inside was a hunk of moldy cheese, another small pouch with a few more coins, and two small glass bottles filled with some unknown liquid. Dean left the cheese, but took the bottles and the coins. Then, together, the brothers ascended the stairs and stepped back out into the light.

The sun nearly blinded them as they stepped outside. It was much lower in the sky than it had been when they entered, and although it was still warm it was almost bearable. Late afternoon, Dean mused. Maybe they could go and find somewhere to sleep for the night with the coin they'd found. Fresh tracks lead away from the fort and northeast, away from the sun. Sam watched the tracks bitterly as they walked and eventually turned away from them, heading due east back towards the city. Dean understood his little brother's frustrations; they were on a time limit, after all. They were always on a time limit. But as Dean eyed his little brother's face in the light, as he could see the long scratches that demonic little creature left, he knew they had to take a minute, take a breath, and figure out what, exactly, they were up against.

They walked back up the long cobblestone bridge and through the gates of the Imperial City, stopping for only a minute to ask for directions back to the market district before continuing on their way. Although the presence of the elves and lizards were certainly still troubling, Dean was starting to slowly feel comfortable with it all. It wasn't so much different from his time with Benny, was it? Or having Cas around. _God_ , he missed Cas. He wondered if their friend would ever get back and figure out what had happened, or if he'd even be able to reach them. They might be out here on their own for a long while.

After some time, they arrived back in front of Slash 'N Smash. Urbul was still there, diligently counting out coin as the brothers entered. He looked up as they came in and offered them a smile. "Welcome back," he greeted, "you boys look like you've gotten into a few scraps since this morning, eh?" He pointed to the scratches on Sam's face. "Well, I hope those pig-stickers helped. What can I do you two?"

"Hey, Urbul," Dean said, "we picked these up in that fort down the road, wondered what you'd give us for 'em." He and Sam placed the leather armor and the short swords on the counter. They looked even worse in the light, worn beyond belief. One of the cuirasses had a huge gash in it from where Dean had stabbed into it, with the other scuffed to hell and back. One of the swords' pommels was completely broken off. Urbul frowned as he examined them.

"Honestly, not much," he answered, "sorry, boys, but in this state they're next to worthless. Blades need to be sharpened, this one needs the handle rebuilt... Your leathers don't look like they need _too_ much work, though. Bow's banged up, but I can probably melt what I can down from it to repair the swords, if you want. Let's say... thirty to repair the lot?"

"You can fix it?" Sam pressed, "like for sure?"

"Oh, yeah." Urbul nodded. "I can have them good as new overnight. If you throw in the daggers, I'll drop the price to fifteen septims total."

Sam and Dean took a moment to count out their coin, placing their fifteen gold pieces— _septims—_ on the counter, along with their daggers. Urbul counted them as well, and nodded in satisfaction. He told them to return the next morning when his shop opened at eight, and waved them off with a smile. Sam and Dean stepped back out into the marketplace, taking in the end of the day rabble and movement around them.

"I like this place," Dean announced. "It's ain't that bad, really. Hey, we got a lot of money left, you wanna head back to the _Oak_ , see if Aranil's got a room open?" He looked over to get Sam's answer, but paused as he saw his brother staring intently at the shop across the street. He'd been staring at the same one earlier that morning; _Discount Spells_ , it was called. Dean could feel something very faintly coming from inside the shop, but Sam stared as if he was transfixed. Dean snapped his fingers next to Sam's ear and smirked as his brother jumped, turning to face him with surprise. "You with us, Sam?"

"Sorry," his brother said, "it's just... Something feels weird about that place. Like, _really_ weird."

"You wanna go in?" Dean asked. Sam hesitated, but nodded. "Then let's go." He followed Sam across the street and through the door. The shop was just a little bit larger than Urbul's had been, and smelled musty, like old books and dust. If they had been back home, Dean would have pegged it as one of those touristy "magic" shops; it certainly matched the aesthetic. Crystal balls lined shelves high up on the walls, and glass display cases showcased staves in the middle of the room. Scrolls and books were stacked precariously on random tables and the main counter itself. Dean wandered as Sam took a look around. He eyed a set of scales on one of the display tables, then a sealed scroll next to them. Next to the scroll was another scroll, and next to that—Dean frowned as he leaned over to eye the odd crystal sitting next to the scroll. It was smaller than the one they'd found at the bunker, but the electric blue mist swirled within all the same. Every now and then the mist took the form of a chittering rat.

"Excuse me, boys, can I help you?" Dean stood upright and looked over his shoulder. An older man had come from around the stairs, his arms full of what looked to be freshly-sealed scrolls. Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

"Sorry," Sam said, "we're new in town. We just thought we'd check out your shop."

"Ah, welcome then," the man said. "I'm Edgar, I own the shop. Let me know if you need anything."

"Why does it feel like this?" Sam immediately asked. Edgar's brows raised.

"What do you mean?" He asked in reply.

"This—this feeling, this _pressure_ ," Sam tried to clarify. "You can feel it, can't you Dean? Like we're _drowning_..."

"I feel a tingle," Dean admitted. "Sammy, you okay?" Sam was lost again, gazing around at everything in the store.

" _Ahh_ ," Edgar finally said, "you're new to magic, aren't you, boy?" He dumped his arm-full of scrolls on the front counter and made his way over, taking a book from a pile and holding it out. "Here, how does this feel?" Sam reached out to take the book, his hand hesitating over it.

"Like ice," he replied, "it's so _cold_..." He swallowed hard. Dean started forward when he saw the frost starting to creep up Sam's fingers.

"It's fine," Edgar said, holding one hand up to halt Dean, "this is normal. Where are you two from?"

"Skyrim," Dean lied, and Edgar nodded.

"Yes, makes sense," he mused, "Skyrim and Hammerfell, neither of them are very fond of magic. I'm not surprised you've never been exposed. I'd expect your parents had a bit of a prejudice against it."

"Yeah," Sam said, "you could say that." He pulled his hand back; the frost thawed. Edgar smiled. He took another book, then crossed the room and took a few more. He paused at Dean, eyed him up and down, muttered to himself, and took a few more books. Then, he motioned the brothers over to the counter.

"I can feel it from both of you," he told them, "your magic affinity, that is. Here, take a look at these." He set the books out on the counter for them. The brothers came forward and peered down at the books. Sam immediately went for one on the top, one that read _On Undead and the Methods for Turning Them_ , flipping through the first pages quickly before he put that to the side and taking another. He sped through that one, too.

"These make sense," he said in surprise, "these actually really make _sense_. It's like... I know how to do these."

"I thought as much," Edgar announced. "These are fairly basic spells most novices can manage, as long as they have the affinity for it." Dean took the _Undead_ book from Sam and flipped through, himself. It didn't make any sense, to him. Just weird pictures, and that jagged font they'd found on the box in the bunker. What were these two on about?

"It's Greek to me," Dean sighed. He reached for another book, _Your Enemies, Your Health, and You_ , and flipped that one open. He expected much of the same, but instead, he froze at the first page. He woudln't pretend he could even read that jagged script, but between that and the drawings, something clicked. All he had to do was get close, take the spirit of Mundus in his hand, and siphon that same spirit from their bodies. He looked up at Edgar's wide grin.

"Perfect!" Edgar said. "Look through these all you want, boys. If you have gold, I can sell you a few more books that might make sense, too." He gave them a wink and went back to his work. Sam was burning through the books like a madman. Dean let him have his fun, and to a lesser extent perused the books, as well. He just wanted his mead, man. There were a few more books that he found of any use. There was one about opening locks, one about healing scratches, and one about throwing a fireball. Eventually, he went to mill restlessly around the door.

"Hey, Edgar," Sam said after a while, "do you have something that might be a step-up on this turn undead?"

"Conjugation? Well, I have a scroll of something more powerful, but it's expensive." He pulled another book and made a stack nearly fall to the floor. "If you want, though, I have book for summoning a scamp. Little bit stronger than that skeleton, eh?" He handed it over to Sam, who opened it up.

"Wait, is this it?" He pointed to the spitting image of the little gremlin in the fort, and Edgar nodded. "How much for this book?"

"I'll do one-eighty septims for you." Sam frowned and handed the book back. This shit was expensive for sure, but Dean couldn't help but feel bad at the disappointment on his little brother's face.

"We'll be back when we've saved up," he told the two of them. "Thanks for the help, Ed. Sam, c'mon, we need to find somewhere to sleep."

They bid Edgar goodbye and wandered back out into the street. It was nearly dark, now. The walk back to the _Oak_ was quiet, but Dean took his time to enjoy the shady walk through the Elven gardens. He went right up to the bar when they entered, smiling as Aranil turned around and greeted them enthusiastically.

"It's the Skyrish boys!" he exclaimed. "Back for another drink?" Dean ordered two more meads and then asked him about rooms. As it so happened, he had one left for the evening, and after slapping down ten gold, the brothers followed his directions up the stairs and to the last room on the right. There was only one bed, and so they made do. Dean flopped down as Sam took a seat at the small table to the side. He had that broody look on his face he got when he was overthinking crap. Dean groaned inwardly.

"Sam. What's up?"

His brother looked ashamedly up at him.

"Dean... do you think the reason I feel this magic more is because...?"

"The demon blood?" Sam nodded. Dean shrugged one shoulder. "I mean, look, Sammy, you ain't drinking the stuff now, right?" Again, Sam nodded. "Alright. So then what if it is, what if it isn't? The way I see it, if this is what we're up against, we might as well use it, ourselves. I mean, it doesn't seem like magic is exactly a secret here."

"I guess not," Sam agreed.

"Damn straight. So don't worry about it, okay?" Dean settled down on his side of the bed. "Go to sleep. We'll worry about this shit tomorrow."

He watched Sam stare at his hands for a moment. The frost grew slowly back over them. He knew he hadn't heard the end of this one, but at the very least, Sam was keeping him in the loop, for now. That was good. He grew bored with watching the newest of his brother's existential crises and reached into his poocket, taking out the Amulet of Kings. The ruby glinted bright red in the candlelight, and the dark stain of the emperor's blood was visible on the chain. Dean rubbed at it, watching as it slowly came off. Something about all of this felt wrong. It felt like it had years ago, when he and Sam had struggled against heaven itself to avert the apocalypse. He remembered wearing the same desperation as Shaazah had, then. Maybe that was why he was so fine with letting the kid go.

Sighing frustratedly to himself, Dean suppose he wasn't going to get anywhere by moping around. He stowed the Amulet safely back into his pocket and turned over on his side, kicking his boots off onto the floor. Tomorrow would be a better day.


End file.
